


Of All the Soda Joints in All the World

by psiten



Series: The Sumeragi Halfway House for People Fucked Over by the Apocalypse [1]
Category: X -エックス- | X/1999
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Tokyo Tower, the world didn't end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6014004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psiten/pseuds/psiten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>The plaza was filled with enterprising souls who'd set up vending stalls as if they were in the middle of a festival with no beginning and no end. You could buy t-shirts and cotton candy, and go goldfish dipping in the shadow of the place where the world nearly ended.</p>
  <p>Where Fuuma had nearly ended the world, before Kamui had stopped him.</p>
</blockquote><p>Fuuma came looking for closure. He may have to face more than a steel tower before he can get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of All the Soda Joints in All the World

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines Day to everyone, even if this isn't your stereotypical Valentines fic! And a huge thank you for your patience to everyone who's waiting for me to write _something else_. I've been exhausted and have needed a great deal of mental distance from my ongoing works recently. I hope you enjoy this little something in the meantime.  <3

     There hadn't been a line to tour the Municipal building this morning. There had been crowds, of course, because it had been one of two buildings left when all of central Tokyo had been leveled during the not-quite Apocalypse. Everything in a ten mile radius around Shinjuku was unlivable -- up into Saitama prefecture in the north, almost to the Yokohama line in the south, even as far as Chiba in the east, thanks to the tidal waves after the earthquakes. The only things left standing here, in the middle of it all, were the Municipal building and, of course, the Tower.

     Somehow, despite fallen buildings and rubble-filled streets, with bus lines running along specially cleared routes to bring people in, Tokyo Tower had managed to become an even bigger tourist trap than it'd been before the Apocalypse. None of the ordinary citizens here knew that today was the second anniversary of the Promised Day, since the battles had gone on in secret. And, unlike the first anniversary, this place was open, not crawling with maintenance personnel sanding off rough edges or vacuuming up powdered stone. While the wreckage of the city below the Tower's skirt had been artfully preserved so people could take in the "authenticity" of Tokyo's remains without the actual danger of walking through streets filled with bits of collapsed building, all Fuuma could see was how alive it was. The plaza was filled with enterprising souls who'd set up vending stalls as if they were in the middle of a festival with no beginning and no end. You could buy t-shirts and cotton candy, and go goldfish dipping in the shadow of the place where the world nearly ended.

     Where Fuuma had nearly ended the world, before Kamui had stopped him.

     He closed his eyes. Flashbacks were coming, he knew -- the blood on his hands turning to mud in the dust, the screaming of rusted metal, wind and lightning, the stench of burning asphalt beating at his brain. The battle in his head was choking him, but opening his eyes would be worse. The double vision of Hell meeting a happy, sunny day was always worse.

     No one in the crowd looked twice. They all knew people from Tokyo who had to close their eyes sometimes, he was sure. A uniformed Panic Officer asked if he needed assistance, as if he were just anybody who'd lost everything when the city went to hell, but Fuuma said he was fine and walked off. He wasn't just anybody. Two years ago, right here, he'd held all their lives in his hand and Kamui had saved them.

     He found the person handing out ticket-queueing slips, taking one with a nod and a quiet, "Thank you." It said he could come back in three hours to buy a ticket, which was better than waiting in line for three hours. He'd have time to get lunch before facing the ghosts of what he'd done. Saying it all made him sick was the understatement of a lifetime, so he headed to a soda vendor first. Maybe after he'd had something to drink he could think about eating.

     "Fuuma?" said a voice that had been cried raw. It came from so nearby, he couldn't believe he hadn't seen Kamui coming. It was far enough away, though, that he...

     No, not actually far enough away. That one word felt like the cut of the sword he'd shoved into his former best friend, opening his own gut. His heart was a battering ram in a space of seconds that felt like eternity, cracking his ribs open, and his breath came in like he had to fight an ocean. Like he could drown. He thought he heard someone whisper to a friend that she should call a Panic Officer, but he couldn't let an outsider near him now. He might still crush a man's skull by thinking about it.

     The man handing him his soda decided not to ask him for money. He moved on to the next customer without a pause, and Fuuma walked towards the emptiest corner of this wasteland he could see. His legs moved as fast as his heart was pounding while the crowds left him a wide berth. That wasn't a reunion he'd planned on having. Maybe he should've known better. An anniversary for him was an anniversary for both of them. For more than just them, too. Kamui could have brought the rest along with him...

     "Fuuma!" Kamui yelled, a little louder now, apparently not about to stop because Fuuma didn't want to hear. When that didn't work, his old friend ran for the tallest nearby pile of rubble and jumped on top of it to could scream at the top of his lungs. " _Fuuma!!_ I know you can hear me!"

     And he could, even over the sound of blood rushing past his ears. He'd always be able to hear that voice.

     When Fuuma stopped, dead still, Kamui jumped down. The warmth and the buzz of the crowd had backed further off than Fuuma could feel, so there wasn't anyone to see how, as his breath came back and his heartbeat hit more slowly (though not less hard), tears welled up in his eyes. A few stuck to his eyelashes when Kamui grabbed his wrist.

     "Fuuma, look at me, please."

     He swallowed. He could do this. "If you wanted to make me look at you, you should've come at me from the front."

     "I don't ever -- _ever_ \-- want to take a choice away from you again. But that doesn't mean I don't want you around."

     "Kamui..." He couldn't find the strength to even keep his fist tight. The sick feeling he got every time he remembered who he'd been when the world was ending wasn't letting him go. Not today, not here. Kamui didn't let go, either. "No," Fuuma said. "No, Kamui."

     "I'm not going to give up on you."

     Fuuma turned so fast, he thought Kamui's fingers would fly off his wrist, but they gripped like iron. He was face to face with Kamui for the first time since he'd come back to being himself. Entirely himself. But that didn't mean it hurt less to see those eyes shining with hope. Shards of glass, shafts of rebar through the abdomen, all the things he'd done to Kamui, and what hurt most were those eyes shining with pleas for him to come back, Fuuma thought as he let his hand rest on his friend's cheek.

     "Kamui. _Give up_. For me. I remember bleeding you half to death. I remember killing my own sister. I remember _liking it_ , and those feelings are in my body, every step of every day. Do you think I can be near you when I'm like this? Do you?"

     There was more he wanted to say. He'd been planning how to explain this to Kamui for most of two years, but Kamui's eyes started to fill with tears, and he was done for. His forehead dropped onto Kamui's as if they were still... okay. As if either of them could ever really be okay.

     "Damn it, Kamui. Please don't cry."

     "I'm not crying. You're crying."

     "If you say so." All the same, it was Kamui's face covered in tears that he brushed off with his thumb. After the initial panic started to fade, Kamui was still there -- alive, whole -- and Fuuma wondered if he could manage to hold on. Then, Kamui buried his face in his jacket and clung like he never wanted to let go. And no, that sick feeling pushed up from his gut again. He couldn't do this. "Kamui, I can't... Maybe someday." He was surprised he could even consider it, but the words came out on their own. "Maybe someday, but today..."

     "I know." Pulling away, Kamui forced a smile and handed Fuuma a business card. "Just take this. So when someday comes, you know where to find me."

     Fuuma didn't know which part made him want to smile back -- that Kamui finally had a home, or that Kamui had brought those cards to foist one off on him. But even wanting to smile wasn't enough for Fuuma to able to do it. He still heard old screams when he looked at his friend's face. It was all he could manage, trying not to run. "Thank you, Kamui. Look, are you coming down from the Tower? I'll walk you to your bus."

     It hurt, trying to be normal around Kamui, but he'd never be able to relax if he couldn't be sure Kamui was gone when he went up with his own tour group. If he saw Kamui get on the bus and watched that bus leave, he might just make it through today without a complete breakdown.

     But Kamui shook his head. "No, I just got here. My ticket-queueing time starts in three hours, so I thought--"

     Fuuma pulled his own ticket-queueing pass out of his pocket. Kamui spotted the problem with the matching green sheets even faster than Fuuma would've expected. "That's... awkward," Kamui whispered, pale as a sheet and speaking with a hoarseness that was all too familiar. "Fuuma... I'd... I'd just go home, but Yuzu--"

     He recognized the name of one of the surviving Dragons of Heaven and shook his head. "But you have people who'd ask questions you'd rather not answer. I get it. It's okay."

     "Well, questions, yeah. I was going to say Yuzuriha wanted a box of the new Tower Banana cakes, but... you're right. Mostly it's... the questions."

     Setting his jaw and breathing in slow, Fuuma fixed his eyes on the nearest leg of the Tower. "I should be the one to leave--"

     "Fuuma!"

     "-- but I'm not going to," he finished, cutting off Kamui's objection. "I have to do this. I have to go up there. For me. I'm guessing you have to do it, too, or you wouldn't have come here. You shouldn't have to leave because I'm--"

     "Then I'll take the shuttle to the Municipal building, and when I come back, you'll already have a ticket for the Tower and it won't be a problem."

     Panic stabbed him again, like a white-hot knife in the brain, but not quite as badly as when he'd first heard Kamui's voice. He could keep himself together, for now. He focused on how stupid it would be for Kamui to make himself tour the Municipal building when that hadn't been part of his Apocalypse to begin with.

     "Do you have a way to tell those people who're waiting for you that you're going to be home late? The cell phone networks aren't that reliable yet, and we both know it." His friend was confused, which looked too close to crying for comfort, but now Fuuma was sure. Knowing Kamui was in Tokyo and not knowing where would be the worst situation possible. "I don't think my nerves could take going the rest of the day wondering if I'm going to run into you. Do you think you can stay... where I can see you? You don't have to say anything. Just stay right here."

     Kamui gave a silent nod, and Fuuma handed him the soda to hold.

     "Okay. Then I'll go buy us lunch. I'm starving."

~//~

     Neither of them had said a word while they'd waited out their three hours on a concrete slab. Not even while waiting for their actual tickets, or sharing an elevator to the rebuilt Observation Deck. All the old maps of how Tokyo had been were cleaned up and covered in new plexiglass. There was some kind of irony in signs designed to show which buildings were which, now telling the crowds where buildings used to be in the shattered landscape below. There were a few things he could pick out without needing a sign, though. The blown-out tracks of the Yamanote Line were the easiest after the Municipal building, but there were a few other places whose rubble had distinctive patterns. He remembered making them.

     It was sort of anticlimactic. He'd wanted to find some peace, but all he felt was numb. The same disappointment was all over Kamui's face as well. He could tell, even though neither of them said it. They didn't have to say anything. In fact, with all these people around, there wasn't much they could say. He looked at Kamui, who was staring -- waiting for him to make eye contact. A tilt of his friend's head became a question: "Are we ready to leave?" Fuuma nodded. He didn't speak until Kamui headed for the direct elevators headed to the bottom floor.

     "Didn't you want those Tower Banana cakes?" Fuuma asked. The words tumbled out. He could've kicked himself for it two seconds later, when he saw the blank surprise on Kamui's face.

     He hadn't even realized how Kamui's hands were shaking until his friend had to hold onto a pillar near the elevator line to steady himself. "Yeah," Kamui said at last, heading back toward the shops floor. "Yeah. Thanks." He couldn't leave Kamui alone in a room full of vendors yelling to attract customers when his friend was that shaken, and Kamui didn't complain about him trailing behind.

     Fuuma pointed out the counter where a salesman was all too happy to sell them a box of Tower Banana cakes, then steered Kamui back to the elevator. It was comforting, in a way, being able to look out for Kamui again, but he didn't want to fall into old habits. It'd be too easy for them to--

     "You don't actually have to walk me to the bus, you know," Kamui said.

     At some point while they'd been following the crowd, they'd exited the elevator and gone back outside. He hadn't even noticed.

     Kamui shifted the bag from the gift shop from one hand to the other. "I'll be okay, Fuuma. Thanks, but I'll be okay."

     "I know. But... I've got a bus to catch, too, so..."

     "Fair point," his friend admitted, although Fuuma could feel the tension in the air growing with every step they took in the same direction. When they finally got to the Yokohama bus terminal, he saw Kamui slowing down. Part of him hoped it was Kamui trying to let him get a few steps ahead so they wouldn't be shoulder to shoulder in awkward silence anymore, but right after he turned toward the line for the bus, Kamui turned, too.

     Fuuma pointed at the ground as he faced Kamui again. He wasn't sure if the words would come out, but he managed. "Y-you live in--"

     "--Yokohama?" Kamui finished.

     Somehow, he didn't run. And when he stayed, Kamui smiled -- really smiled, like he might start crying again, but not because he was sad.

     "Fuuma...!" But his friend caught himself, looking away again. "I mean... if you want, I can take the next bus. It won't be that long."

     Fuuma shook his head, waving Kamui back into line as the bus pulled up. "I ate lunch with you and toured the god damned Tower with you. I think I can take riding a bus with you. And... living in the same town as you." He showed his fare card to the driver, and as he put it back in his pocket, felt the card Kamui had given him with his address. He'd meant to hold off on reading it until he was ready to go find Kamui again for real -- for good -- but now, it seemed like he might as well look. Otherwise, he'd just go home to his apartment and wonder. So he sat in the seat next to Kamui, since apparently he couldn't take the idea of being around his friend without being _with_ his friend, and read off what it said on the card.

     "The Sumeragi Halfway House for People Fucked Over by the Apocalypse?"

     "The name was Karen's idea. She told Subaru it'd piss off his folks."

     "No kidding." It was a completely different kind of relief to know that the sad bastard Fuuma had seen hit rock bottom was with people, too. To know he was letting people who actually cared about him into his life. He'd known Kamui would manage somehow, because he knew what Kamui was made of, but for all Fuuma could tell when he'd read 'Sumeragi', the oddly named place could've been founded in loving memory. But it wasn't, because even Sumeragi Subaru was still alive, and living where Kamui could keep an eye on him. Under that name was a phone number and an address, with a map of streets Fuuma knew all too well. "I've been living two blocks away from you."

     "Wait, what?" Kamui asked, his eyes going wide.

     "How did I not notice the Sa..." He cut himself off when he saw Kamui turn to the window with his grip tightening. "I mean... Subaru-san... opening a PTSD clinic two blocks from my apartment?"

     "He doesn't advertise. It's for the Dragons. Because no one else can really understand."

     Fuuma couldn't help noticing that Kamui hadn't specified Dragons of Earth or Dragons of Heaven. That seemed like it might have been on purpose.

     "But Fuuma..." Kamui went on. His friend's voice cracked a little, but he kept going anyway. "Two blocks or two prefectures, it doesn't matter. I'll wait until you come find me. However long you need, I'll be waiting."

     "Two blocks matters a little." He could see Kamui biting something back. Maybe trying to stop himself from asking Fuuma not to move away. Before today, if he'd realized how close they'd ended up to each other, he might have felt compelled to move. Kyoto was still pretty nice. But right now, he felt like he wanted to do better, no matter how hard it turned out to be. "If you see me on the street, would you say hello?"

     Just like that, Kamui's smile was back. "Yeah. And you'll say hi to me? Carefully."

     "Carefully." Neither one of them would be good people to surprise.

     They'd run out of words to say for now, but Kamui was looking teary-eyed at his shoulder. He probably didn't even know he was doing it. But that was fine. Fuuma touched his friend's cheek and pulled Kamui closer to let him know it was okay. Kamui resting his head on his shoulder and squeezing his hand wasn't something Fuuma wanted to run away from. Not today, anyway.


End file.
